


Promises to Keep

by Lush_Specimen



Series: Dratchet War Stories [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Past Torture, Post-Canon, Rescue, War, with flashbacks to pre-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2020-10-11 15:15:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20548277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lush_Specimen/pseuds/Lush_Specimen
Summary: After a nightmare about his past as Deadlock, Drift can't sleep. Determined to help distract Drift from his bad memories, Ratchet offers to tell him a story of his own. Curious since Ratchet first mentioned it, Drift requests a story about the first time the Terrorcons protected Ratchet.





	1. Can't Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> I intended this to be a cute short story about a group of hapless monsters watching out for a certain grumpy medic.  
Now it's multiple chapters. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Ratchet looked up from his datapad when the bundle of blankets nestled next to him wriggled around for the tenth time in as many minutes. Realizing that he had reread the same sentence three times now, he turned his attention to the blankets. 

“Drift? Everything alright?” Ratchet whispered. When his question was met with only silence, he gently nudged the restless lump. 

“Yeah. Fine. I’m sleeping,” Came the muffled reply. 

“No, you’re not!” Ratchet chuckled. 

“You don’t know!” The bundle huffed indignantly. 

“You mean aside from the fact that you couldn’t answer my questions if you were actually asleep? How about this? When you recharge, you sleep so hard that sometimes I check your vital signs just to make sure that you’re still alive.” 

“That’s not true!” Drift disentangled himself from the blankets, throwing them off from over his head. His bright blue optics sparkled with mirth. Ratchet’s own spark spun a little faster in his chest as he contemplated just how lucky he was to finally have a chance for a life together with Drift. Still, he could never resist and opportunity to tease him. 

“You don’t know.” Ratchet shrugged in a very poor impression of Drift. 

Drift laughed. “That is NOT what I sound like!” 

“Close enough! But seriously, if you’re having trouble sleeping, I could give you something to-” 

“No, thank you!” Drift waved off his offer. “I got some new goldstones from Anode and Lug. Maybe the crystals need to be realigned to capture more positive energy?” 

“Wait!” Ratchet grabbed Drift’s arm before he could jump up and fiddle with the angles of the colorful gemstones that he had placed in various locations around the room. He gently pulled him closer, surprised at how easily Drift melted under his touch. 

“What if, instead of...” Ratchet trailed off while he racked his brain for the gentlest way to call all of Drift’s faith in crystals and energies a load of fragging rust wash. Since he couldn’t come up with an agreeable phrase, he just sighed and got to the point. “What if I gave you something new to think about, like when we all told stories to help fix Rung’s brain.” 

“Aww! Ratty! Are you gonna tell me a bedtime story?” Drift’s finials canted back. A mischievous grin spread across his face. The tips of his fangs showed, revealing shades of the predatory instincts that made him such a formidable warrior. “Is it about your Party Ambulance phase?” 

“WH- WHAT!??” Ratchet sputtered in shock. “How do you know about that!?” 

“Did you know,” Drift asked, optics wide with feigned innocence, “That Thunderclash will cheerfully answer ANY question that you ask him? In great detail?” 

“That’s because he’s too sweet to tell you to frag off and mind your business.” Ratchet grumbled. “I’m going to have a talk with my old roommate.” 

“Why?” A pained look crossed Drift’s face. “You know all about the types of things that I did back in the Dead End because I told you about most of it myself. Are you ashamed to admit to your own... indiscretions?” 

“That’s not it at all!” Ratchet felt his face plates heat up under Drift’s intense stare. He focused on the ceiling and squirmed. “It’s just that- I- um- I- don’t really remember much of it.” He quickly ran through the explanation, knowing that Drift heard him but somehow still stupidly hoping that he didn’t. 

“Oh, Primus!” Drift snorted. “You can’t be serious!?” 

“Please.” Ratchet pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “If Thunderclash told you even a fraction of the things that we got into, it really shouldn’t come as a surprise. Besides, this isn’t about what I can’t remember, this is about helping you with things that you can’t forget.” 

“Oh, no! This is definitely helping. Believe me!” Drift snickered, dim light playing across his polished white armor and vibrant crimson accents. 

“Good. Think you can go back to sleep now while I finish proofreading the first chapter of First Aid’s memoir? I told him that I’d get it back to him for revisions.” Ratchet crossed his arms, calling his bluff. 

“Well...” Drift winced. 

The slightest hint of discomfort was all Ratchet needed to see. He turned off the datapad and set it aside. Ratchet wrapped an arm around Drift’s shoulders and the speedster nestled into his side with practiced ease. “Although... I don’t think I could read another line about Springer’s dashing good looks or incredible virtues right now.” 

“That’s mean.” Drift snickered, tension bleeding out of his struts as Ratchet gathered him in. 

“It’s true.” 

“If you’re sure it’s not interrupting, there is something that I’ve been wondering about...” 

Ratchet raised a brow ridge. He wanted to say that nothing was ever more important than Drift, but he’s still getting used to being more open. Sometimes he just couldn’t find the right words to say the most important things. Instead, he waited patiently, pleased that Drift hadn’t fidgeted around for a few minutes. 

“The other night, you mentioned that Hun-Garr and the Terrorcons always watched out for you after we saved him. I never knew about any of that. Since helping them was one of the few good things that I did during that time of my life, I’d like to know more. Could you tell me one of those stories? Please?” 

“Of course,” Ratchet nodded. A kind light shone in his optics but his spark twisted a little in his chest. Drift asked so carefully, so tentatively, like he thought Ratchet might say no. If he could go back in time and save Drift from a lifetime of regrets, he would do it in an instant. Unfortunately, their last time adventure created a horrific alternate universe. Since unbalancing the space-time continuum wasn’t really an option, he would gladly do anything in the present to help him move forward. They both had their own issues, but if they could help each other carry their burdens, then maybe it wouldn’t be so hard. “We’ll start at the beginning. I’ll tell you about the very first time they pulled my fender out of the fire.” 

“Thank you,” Drift vented a sigh laced with more relief than Ratchet had expected. “I just like hearing your voice.” 

“Hmph. If my voice sounds good to you, you probably need your audials recalibrated.” Ratchet smiled at Drift’s laughter as he settled himself more comfortably in their shared berth. He snuggled Drift closer, reveling in the pleasant hum of the speedster's engine. “Let’s see... It was a little while after we parted ways that night...”  
_____________________________________________________________________ 

“RATCHET! INCOMING!!” 

Ratchet cast a wary optic up to scan the skies while up to his elbows in the fuel tanks of a wounded jet. The telltale streak of light that heralded an approaching missile sent his energon running cold. 

“Frag it all!” He threw himself over his battered patient, hoping his sturdier frame would shield the slight flier. He shut his optics, gritted his teeth, and braced for impact. 

A half a second later, the shockwave from the detonating ordinance scrambled his audials. A shower of debris pattered off his back. Shocked, he opened his optics. Instead of being blown into tiny pieces, he found himself in the smoking shadow of a large technicolor armored transport. 

“CLASH?! What the HELL did you just do?” 

“Oh, nothing,” the big truck coughed and tried to turn his stalled engine over several times before it fired. “Just saved your life. You know, no big deal. Almost didn’t make it in time.” 

“In time for WHAT?” Ratchet yelled, turning back to finish patching his original patient. “To get yourself killed?” 

“Thunderclash! Thank you so much for shielding me from the latest missile barrage.” The colorful truck muttered in a poor imitation of Ratchet. “No problem, Ratch! I know you’d do the same for me.” He continued carrying on the conversation with himself, while Ratchet did his best to ignore him. 

“Knock it off!” Ratchet grumbled. “And what about all the wounded that are riding along in your cargo bed?” 

“They’re fine.” Thunderclash answered, uncertainty wavering in his voice. “Right? Everybody okay back there?” 

A chorus of affirmative grumbles and moans sounded from battered group lost and wounded autobots they managed to collect. 

Ratchet welded the last seam on the jet’s main fuel line and gingerly lifted him to his feet. The poor spark needed a lot more work: one wing was completely crumpled, armor was burnt by laser fire, his overheating vent fans whined constantly, but he was alive and now no longer in danger of leaking to death. 

“I think he’ll have to sit up front.” Thunderclash opened his side door. “My cargo bay is pretty full. We should probably head back to base.” 

“Right.” Ratchet helped the jet into Thunderclash’s cab then walked around to his other side to examine the missile impact. He grimaced at the blistered paint and scorched armor. This was all his fault. If he had been more careful, Thunderclash would never have caught him sneaking out into the field at night to search for wounded soldiers instead of recharging. Granted, they were able to save many more Autobots once the big transport bot insisted on joining him, but he still felt responsible for his friend’s injuries. “I’m going to have to patch you up too.” 

“Me? Don’t worry about it! I’m fine.” Thunderclash bragged as he slowly shifted into first gear, engine rumbling. “I could take like six more of those before I would even feel it.” 

Ratchet huffed and poked his blackened armor with one finger. 

“OW! Hey! Watch it!” The truck shuddered. 

“You could take six more missiles, huh?” Ratchet shook his head and shifted into ambulance mode to lead Thunderclash back through the battlefield. The big bot possessed boundless enthusiasm for their secret rescue missions, but he couldn’t navigate his way out of an energon cube. 

“Yeah! Missiles are way gentler than some probing medic’s fingers.” 

“Please! I barely touched you.” 

“Besides... I think these were ours.” 

“Wait!” Ratchet slammed on his brakes. “Are you saying that we almost got killed by friendly fire?!” 

“Yeah.” Thunderclash carefully swerved to avoid colliding with Ratchet. “Decepticon missiles usually have an incendiary charge or explosive shrapnel. These were pretty straightforward no frills ordinance, which is what we generally use. No one knows we’re out here so we probably show up on the scanners as ‘suspicious activity.’ Optimus would blow a gasket if he knew we spent our nights creeping across the battlefield instead of resting up for the next day.” 

“I can’t believe we’re going through all this trouble just to get murdered by our own army.” Ratchet muttered as he resumed threading their way back to base. As much as he hated to put his friends in harm’s way, he did appreciate the help. Not that he’d ever admit it. “No one asked you to come.” 

“You didn’t have to!” came Thunderclash’s cheery reply. “By carrying everyone at once, I’m saving you loads of trips and we get to save as many bots as possible.” 

“But you got hurt.” 

“And if I wasn’t there, you’d be dead.” 

“I’d be fine.” 

“Yeah, you’re right. You’re probably too stubborn to die.” 

“Oh, come on!” Ratchet chuckled. Maybe having Clash tag along wasn’t so bad. His indefatigable cheeriness tempered Ratchet's stubborn gruffness. They continued trundling along the broken terrain, lights out to avoid any unwanted attention. Ratchet led, carefully picking out the smoothest path to avoid jostling the wounded more than absolutely necessary. As they made their way through mounds of debris kicked up by an intense barrage of explosives, something caught his attention. He could have sworn he heard a voice. 

“Please... I’m scared...” 

Ratchet abruptly hit his brakes again. Hearing the squeal of large tires trying desperately to stop, he transformed and hopped out of the way before Thunderclash skidded into him. 

“Watch it!” Thunderclash huffed. “Call your stops! If I wreck into you, you’ll be in my cargo hold along with every-” 

“Shhh!” Ratchet hissed sharply, and Thunderclash instantly fell silent. “I thought I heard something.” He strained his audials, hoping to pick up the sound again. 

“I don’t want to die... Not alone...” There it was again. Definitely a voice, barely louder than a whisper. 

While Ratchet searched the surrounding rubble for any possible life signs, Thunderclash did his best to suppress the loud rumble of his engine. Just as he was about to give up, Ratchet spotted the telltale shimmer of freshly spilled energon gleaming under the star light around a mound of debris. Narrowing his optics, he made out white and blue armor, energon leaking from a ragged wound next to... a fragging purple badge. 

Ratchet clenched his fists. Autobot, Decepticon, it didn’t matter. He had already decided to help the moment those pathetic whimpers first reach his audials, but he couldn’t risk Thunderclash and the battered soldiers that they’ve rescued so far. Although unlikely, the possibility of reinforcements lurking nearby put them all in danger. 

“Clash, I need you to take this lot back to base. There’s something that I need to take care of first.” 

“That’s okay. I can wait.” Thunderclash shifted into neutral. 

“You can wait, but some of them can’t!” Ratchet gestured towards his cargo hold. “Go straight to the medibay and let Pharma get started. He’ll know what to do.” 

“But-” 

“I’ll be right behind you.” 

“That’s all well and good, but I’ll never find the base by myself. I’ll get lost.” 

“Oh, for rust’s sake! Now who’s being stubborn?” Ratchet grumbled. He leaned into Thunderclash’s cab to address the wounded jet they rescued from the missile barrage. “You! How’s your navigational skills?” 

“Sir?” The jet winced, optics slowly dimming, his one good hand clutched over the hasty welds holding his side together. “I am a member of the reconnaissance team.” 

“That’s nice, but it doesn’t answer my fragging question.” 

“I can direct you anywhere you need to go.” The jet stated with a cocksure attitude that belied his miserable condition. 

“Good. Then direct this lugnut back to base so he doesn’t get lost.” 

The jet laughed weakly. “Good one, sir.” 

“What’s so funny?” Thunderclash asked. “I get lost all the time.” 

“Yeah. Sure you do,” the jet scoffed, like he didn’t believe it for a second. 

“It’s why I’m late for everything,” Thunderclash muttered. “Why doesn’t anyone ever listen to me?” 

“They’re all distracted by your extreme hotness.” Ratchet deadpanned. “Why do you think we always got free drinks when we went out?” 

“WH- WHAT?! I always thought it was because of how you danced on the tables.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Ratchet’s face curled into a wicked grin at the chorus of snickering from the wounded bots in Thunderclash’s cargo bay. “Now haul your handsome bumper out of here!” 

“But-” 

“GO!” 

“Fine! But if you’re not back by the time I get these bots to Pharma, I’m coming looking for you.” 

“You sure as hell better not! I don’t need to spend the rest of the night searching for a navigationally-challenged gearstick that doesn’t know how to listen to reason.” 

“No promises!” Thunderclash called as he pulled away. 

“Right behind you!” Ratchet waved. 

As soon as Thunderclash was out of sight, Ratchet turned back towards the wounded Decepticon. He cracked his knuckles, drew himself up, and strode forward, hoping that he wasn’t walking straight into some type of ambush. If he became a prisoner of war again, maybe he’d at least get to see the kid one more time before he died.


	2. Familiar Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet promises to repair the wounded Decepticon. Unfortunately, he's not the only one out looking for survivors this evening.

“Shut up!” Drift playfully shoved him. “You did NOT think that.” 

“Who’s telling this story?” Ratchet crossed his arms. 

“You. However, you mean to tell me that when faced with the very real possibility of torment and death, you thought that maybe you’d see me again? You had the BIGGEST crush! Probably second only to Thunderclash crushing on Rodimus for forever!” 

“So what? We’ve already established that.” Ratchet shrugged. He fought his automatic urge to deny any feelings by turning the situation back to Drift. “What about you? You wanna claim that when you were hurt, you didn’t sometimes secretly hope that a ruggedly handsome ambulance would rush to your aid?” He leaned back with a smug smile. 

Drift’s face lit up bright pink, showing off the vibrant crimson designs on his cheeks. “Th- That’s not- I mean-” He stammered and then admitted with a sigh, finials drooping, “Maybe once or twice...” 

“Well. I rest my case.” Ratchet grinned. 

“But I wasn’t there.” 

“I know, and I wasn’t there for you either. However, the Terrorcons were there for me and they wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t helped Hun-Garr. That’s the point of telling you this story.” 

“I wish I could have been there though,” Drift said softly. “To protect you. Because I know this story is going to involve you getting hurt.” He squeezed Ratchet’s arm. 

As much as he willed to suppress it, Ratchet felt warm glow of his own face plates heating up. 

“I couldn’t be there then, but I’ll always protect you from now on.” Drift stated like it was an absolute fact. A fierce light shone in his blue optics. 

Ratchet wanted to tell him that he didn’t need a bodyguard, but couldn’t find a way to say it without sounding dismissive. While Ratchet struggled to find the right words, Drift leaned over to the small table next to their berth and rummaged through an ornate chest. He hummed in approval when he found the object of his search. Ratchet caught a glimpse of pink sparkles as Drift set something on the headboard of their berth. 

“What did you- ?” Ratchet turned to see the object that Drift placed above him. 

“Don’t worry about it!” Drift took his face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together. “I said that I’d protect you and I mean it. From everything, any way I can.” 

“That’s what I’m supposed to be doing for you.” Ratchet smiled and trailed his fingers lightly along Drift’s finials. 

“I know! And you’re doing a wonderful job!” Drift purred, snuggling himself comfortably against Ratchet’s side. “Nothing helps me relax like a story of you getting your aft handed to you.” 

“Is that sarcasm?” Ratchet narrowed his optics. 

“Sarcasm?!” Drift gasped in exaggerated offense. “I don’t even know the meaning of the word!” He bit his lip and managed to keep a straight face for a full second before dissolving into laughter. 

Although Ratchet huffed and rolled his optics, he reveled in the way the Drifts laughter gently resonated with his frame. “Hilarious. Now, where was I?”  
_________________________________________________________________________ 

“Hello?” Ratchet called in a gentle voice as he approached the wounded Decepticon. He kept his movements deliberate and held his hands out in front of him. The last he needed was to frighten a heavily armed wounded enemy combatant. 

“Will... Will you stay with me?” The voice rasped. Ratchet winced at the slightly garbled ending of each word, indicative of energon leaking into the vocal processor. “Don’t... want to be alone...” 

“Take it easy. I’m here. You are not alone.” Ratchet finally climbed around the debris to reach his intended patient, and froze. The Decepticon had a rather monstrous alt mode. His sleek blue and white armor, complete with a large fin on his back and powerful heterocercal tail, suggested an aquatic function, but he also had four legs for use on land. Each limb ended with a wicked set of claws. He slowly raised his head to inspect Ratchet with flickering crimson optics. When he coughed, Ratchet winced at the gaping jaws lined with rows of razor-sharp golden fangs. 

“You?” The shark bot blinked. “You’re the Auto-doc!” 

“Yes. I am an Autobot medic,” Ratchet replied, kneeling uncomfortably close to those powerful jaws to inspect his injuries. The ragged wound splitting his side probably felt terrible, but most major components escaped severe damage. With a little effort, he could have this monster back on his feet in no time. 

“No...” Shark bot shook his head. He coughed, choking on his own energon. “You’re the Autobot doctor... THE auto-doc.” 

“Oooo-kay.” Ratchet furrowed his brow, unsure of what the Decepticon was going on about. Electing to let it go and move on, he gently laid his hand on one of the creature’s spindly forearms. “You don’t have to die, and you don’t need to be afraid. I’m going to help you. I promise.” 

The shark bot chuckled, a wet, grating sound that send a shiver through Ratchet’s circuits. “Just... just like the boss said.” 

Ratchet quickly scanned the area. The mention of a ‘boss’ made him more than a little nervous, but he was already committed to patching up this poor idiot. He didn’t seem like the kind to plot out an elaborate trap. 

“Listen, Sharky,” Ratchet prepared a few tools, “I’m going to patch you up. I won’t lie. It’s going to hurt, but you will survive. I’m not going anywhere until you’re back on your feet. When you’re feeling better, we will both go our separate ways in peace. Understand?” 

“Name’s... Rippersnapper. Understand... Thank... you...” The shark bot weakly nodded and laid his head back on the ground with a soft moan. 

“Rippersnapper,” Ratchet paused. That name sounded oddly familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “You’re going to be just fine.” Ratchet began cauterizing his leaking fuel lines and carefully routing bypasses around areas too damaged to repair. His fingers worked rapidly. To his surprise, the shark bot began to hum softly in time with the clacking of his tools. “Are you holding up alright?” 

“Hmm? Yeah... Compared to other stuff...” Rippersnapper shuddered as if assaulted by some painful memory. “This is nothing. Thanks. For asking, I mean.” 

“No problem,” Ratchet nodded. Although his wounds weren’t even the worst that Ratchet encountered today, they still must be excruciatingly painful. He wondered what other things this bot survived if these injuries paled in comparison. The Decepticon’s voice already sounded better now that he had repaired the ruptured energon lines around his vocal processor. Taking out his last two supplemental energon cubes, he set them near Rippersnapper’s gaping jaws. “While I finish patching your armor, I want you sip those-” 

CRUNCH! The shark bot looked up, licking his chops. Both cubes were completely gone, glass containers and all. 

“-slowly.” Ratchet sighed and shook his head. “It’s easier on your system if you refuel gradually after being so depleted.” 

“Oh? Sorry...” 

“It’s okay. Refueling so rapidly might make you feel a little sluggish as all your systems come back online. I’m doing the best that I can, but I want you to report directly to your medic for a check-up when you return to base. Okay?” 

With the more delicate fuel line work completed, Ratchet moved quickly through rest of the repairs. If he didn’t get back to his own base soon, Thunderclash would come looking for him. Then he’d have to go looking for Thunderclash before that noble lummox got himself blown up. As he ran a bead along one his last weld seams, something warm trickled down the side of his neck. A sharp twinge of pain brought the chilling realization that a sword with a surgically sharp blade bit into his main fuel cable just delicately enough to get his attention. 

“Doctor? Fancy meeting you here.” Someone whispered over his shoulder. “When I volunteered to search for Autobot stragglers to send to the Afterspark, I never dreamed that I would l find you!”

“Bludgeon.” Ratchet’s energon ran cold. That voice haunted his nightmares. As a self-defense measure, he did his best to seem completely disinterested in the hulking bot leaning over his shoulder or the sword currently pressed against his unarmored fuel line. “I’m busy.” 

Ratchet refused to look up from his patient. He knew the sight that awaited him all too well. Intense crimson optics burning behind a fanged skull-like face plate, surrounded by the traditional armor of a Metallikato master. Perhaps sensing the arrival of an extremely dangerous warrior, Rippersnapper fell silent. Considering that a sign that the two Decepticons weren’t in league with each other, Ratchet worked even faster. He had to finish fixing this hapless idiot before Bludgeon kills them both. 

“That’s too bad. You and I have unfinished business, doctor.” 

“Oh? I don’t know,” Ratchet grumbled, struggling to ignore the increasingly uncomfortable pressure from the blade slowly slicing into his neck. “I’m pretty DONE with you.” He focused completely on the shark bot. He had to finish. If he could just save one more life, maybe in some small way it would make up for not having the courage to tell the kid how he felt. 

Bludgeon laughed. That lilting sound frayed Ratchet’s nerves worse that his intimidatingly polite conversation. He tried desperately push away all the memories of his last encounter with Bludgeon in a makeshift POW camp. He needed to focus on anything other than the searing pain of Bludgeon’s blades prying off slices of his armor one small piece at a time. Or the way Bludgeon beat the scrap out of him when he found out that Megatron had approved the official prisoner exchange that freed Ratchet from his grasp. Willing the hum of his vent fans to remain steady, Ratchet threw himself entirely into his repairs. Someone’s life was in his hands. Rippersnapper was counting on him, and he wouldn’t let him down. He promised. 

“Come now, Ratchet,” Bludgeon cajoled, like he was an old friend stopping by for a glass of fine distilled engex instead of a homicidal maniac threatening to torture him to death. “It’s been far too long.” 

Stepping over the wounded shark bot like he was simply another piece of debris to stand directly in front of Ratchet, Bludgeon loomed over them both. He repositioned his sword so that the point now rested lightly against the center of Ratchet’s throat. Warm energon ran freely from the open slice wound on the side of his neck. Ratchet resisted the urge to slap a quick clot patch on it. He was almost done with Rippersnapper’s repairs. 

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” Ratchet muttered, dismissing Bludgeon’s threats. “Go bother someone el-” He choked on the rest of the sentence as Bludgeon suddenly twisted his sword so that the blade pressed against the underside of his jaw. 

“Look me in the eye when you’re talking to me.” Bludgeon commanded like he was speaking to some wayward new recruit. He began to gradually raise the angle of his sword, forcing Ratchet to lift his head or risk getting it sliced in two. 

Still on his knees next to Rippersnapper, Ratchet reluctantly raised his head to look up at Bludgeon. He was almost done with his repairs. At this point, he could complete the final welds without looking so he kept his fingers moving. A thought ran through his head, which he quickly pushed away. After Deadlock rescued him from Turmoil, was it too much to hope that the kid might be around now? As satisfying as it would be to have him rush in all bared fangs and unbridled ferocity, Ratchet knew that was an unfounded wish. Narrowing his optics, he growled and met Bludgeon’s glare. 

“That’s more like it,” Bludgeon chuckled, holding the blade of his sword tight against Ratchet’s jaw so he couldn’t look away. “My my, Ratchet! I’m surprised! Your optics have changed. So fierce! I wonder what it will take to extinguish that fire? What do you say that we take our time to find out?” 

Ratchet’s fears slowly burned into a righteous anger. This whole situation was so incredibly stupid. All he wanted to do was try to save another life from this endless war. Finishing his last weld, he gently ran his hand down the fresh seam, hoping that the wounded Decepticon had enough sense to stay down and out of Bludgeon’s way. Rippersnapper was just a hapless soldier. He didn’t deserve to die lost and alone. Neither did any of the wounded Autobots that he rescued with Thunderclash. Ugh, Clash. That idiot was going to get himself killed wandering around the deserted battlefield hopelessly searching for Ratchet. All because Bludgeon couldn’t mind his own damn business. 

More important than all of that, he’d never get the chance to tell Deadlock all the things he should have said. He’d never know what might have been if only he had enough courage to ask the kid to come with him. After squandering two chance meetings, what are the odds that he’d survive to get another one? Clenching his fists, Ratchet pictured himself turning his back on Deadlock, leaving the kid alone in the rain, so much left unsaid. His engine roared. 

“What I say...” Ratchet tilted his back a little more to relieve the pressure of the sword enough to speak. A wicked grin spread across his face as he channeled all of Deadlock’s reckless ferocity and held Bludgeon’s intense glare. “...Is that you can go frag yourself.” 

Bludgeon’s crimson optics flared. In an imperceptibly fast motion, he withdrew his sword and backhanded Ratchet across the face. The violent blow knocked Ratchet sprawling to the ground. Searing pain tore through his circuits. The fragger dislocated his jaw. 

Coughing on the energon that filled mouth from a split fuel line, Ratchet grasped his slack jaw with trembling fingers. Steeling himself against the imminent jolt of pain, Ratchet pushed his jaw over and up. He gasped sharply as it snapped back into place with an audible click. RPMs dangerously high, Ratchet struggled to get his racing engine under control. Fighting his body’s natural response of going into shock, he shuddered and raised himself slowly to his hands and knees, focusing on steadying his ventilation cycles. 

“What an unexpected comment!” Although Bludgeon’s static face plate masked any emotional displays, Ratchet could hear the maniacal grin in his voice. “Our time together is going to be so interesting!” Completely ignoring Rippersnapper, Bludgeon reached across the prone bot and dug his claws into Ratchet’s fender flare. The shriek of buckling metal rent the air. “Come along now, doctor.” 

“ROOOAR!!!” Rippersnapper coiled all four limbs and launched himself straight up just as Bludgeon leaned over him. Knocking Ratchet and Bludgeon in opposite directions, the monstrous bot snarled, baring all of his golden fangs. He whirled around and struck Bludgeon right in the mid-section with his powerful shark tail. Caught off-guard, the Metallikato master flew backwards through the air and crashed into a pile of tangled debris. 

“Oh, Primus!” Rippersnapper giggled, clawing at the dirt and dried energon that crusted his armor. “He’s going be so super-omega hacked off when he gets out of there!” He extended one of his spindly forearms to help Ratchet to his feet. “Sorry it took me so long. You were right. Swallowing those two energon cubes whole made me really sleepy.” 

“Thank you.” Ratchet rasped. Between the hastily relocated jaw and split fuel lines, his voice sounded harsh and raw. Rippersnapper was no Deadlock, but he’d take the unexpected rescue all the same. He swayed but Rippersnapper held him upright. Pressing his hand against the slice wound on the side of his neck, his fingers came away slick with fresh energon. The cut must have widened when Bludgeon struck him. He rummaged through his tool kit and slapped on an adhesive quick patch on before it got any worse. He’d attend to his own welds later. 

The sound of a spinning transformation cog caught both of their attentions. Bludgeon’s armored tank alt mode erupted from the pile of debris and aimed his cannon at Rippersnaper. 

“How DARE you!” he roared. He fired his laser cannon, the thunderous report echoing across the empty plains. 

“AHHH! Rust me! He recovered fast!” Rippersnapper ducked under the blast. “We gotta get outta here! NOW!” 

“We?” 

“Hell yeah! I’m not leavin’ you with him! He’s totally nuts!” Rippersnapper motioned towards the angry tank currently preparing to fire another volley. “Even if you didn’t just save my life, the boss would kill me! We’re supposed to protect you!” 

“Protect me!? Why?” 

“Because! I told you before: YOU are the Auto-doc!” Rippersnapper responded like that answered Ratchet’s question. “Quick grab my fin and hold on tight! I can go really fast! We gotta get to the boss! He’ll know what to do!” 

Ratchet wavered on his feet and wiped the energon off his chin with the back of his hand. He felt dizzy, his jaw ached, Bludgeon’s claws left deep gashes in his fender and he was exhausted. He wasn’t sure what to make of Rippersnapper’s offer, but anything was better than spending any more time with Bludgeon. Clambering onto Rippersnapper’s back, Ratchet grinned and flashed a rude gesture at the furious tank, which did nothing to improve Bludgeon’s mood. He howled with rage and fired his cannon again. 

“Hold on!!” Rippersnapper called as he took off. Ratchet gripped his shark fin tightly. The Decepticon wasn’t kidding. Loping along on all fours, he ran faster over the broken terrain than most wheeled vehicles could drive. He had to devote so much energy to simply holding on, that Ratchet didn’t have the time to consider the absolute absurdity of his predicament. He was riding a four-legged Decepticon shark across a deserted battlefield in the middle of the night pursued by an extremely angry homicidal tank. At least it would make a good story to tell. If he survived.


	3. The Sixth Terrorcon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hearing about Bludgeon's rough treatment of Ratchet gets Drift all riled up. Ratchet has to calm him down before continuing his story of meeting the rest of the Terrorcons.

“I’m going to kill him.” Drift muttered, a cold light shining in his optics. Their blue light had sharpened from the soft cerulean of summer stars to the harsh turquoise of the unforgiving winter sky. 

“Who?” Ratchet asked despite already knowing the answer. He thought that a story like this one might rouse Drift’s intense protective streak. Since the object was to get Drift’s focus off of his own past, Ratchet figured it was worth the risk. 

Drift narrowed his optics. 

“Don’t worry. It was a million years ago. I’m sure someone else has beaten you to it by now.” 

“He broke. Your jaw.” Drift’s tone remained deadly calm but his engine rumbled. 

“Technically, it was dislocated.” 

“Technically, I don’t care. He hurt you.” 

“Yes. And unfortunately, he’s not the only one. We were at war; things happen. I don’t need you making your own private murder list.” 

Drift growled. He radiated violence, every coil and spring drawn taut. Ratchet had seen him back down opponents many times his size wielding only the threat of his rage. 

“Hey.” Ratchet locked optics with Drift, unphased by his burning ferocity. Drawing on years of experience diffusing tense situations, Ratchet keep his tone gentle but stern. “Take it easy. It’s okay. I’m fine.” As a distraction, Ratchet poked him in the side, just below a ticklish spot. A shiver ran through Drift’s entire frame, but the light in his optics softened. 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Drift sat up and leaned across Ratchet’s chest. The dim light flashed on his shining white armor as he carefully took Ratchet’s face in his hands. Ratchet raised a brow ridge, surprised at the lightness of his touch when he basically promised to kill someone. Drift ran his fingertips along Ratchet’s jaw, so gently it tickled. Ratchet bit his lip and tried not to squirm, knowing that Drift needed to assure himself that Ratchet was indeed okay. 

When Drift moved his hands to brush against Ratchet’s sensitive fuel lines, he couldn’t take it anymore. Ratchet didn’t dare laugh no matter how much it tickled, but he didn’t want to tell Drift to stop either. Since he couldn’t think of what to say, he just leaned forward and lightly kissed the crest of Drift’s helm. Drift froze and raised his blue optics to meet Ratchet’s. A smile spread across his face like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. 

“Well, doc,” Ratchet began. “What’s your diagnosis?” 

“Hmm...” Drift’s smile broadened to reveal the tips of his fangs, mischief replacing all the murder. “I’m afraid it’s bad.” 

“Oh? Give it to me straight. I can take it.” 

“The patient has a terminal case of ‘stubborn’ with serious side complications of ‘can’t take care of himself’ and ‘won’t accept help’.” 

“That sounds a little extreme.” Ratchet snorted. 

“Oh, it is!” Drift snickered. “I’ve never seen a case this bad! It’s all reflected vividly in your aura!” 

“Ugh!” Ratchet finally gave in to the urge to roll his optics and changed the subject before they got into another spiritual debate. “Do you even want to hear how the story ends?” 

“Hell yes!” Drift settled back into his blankets. He protectively curled himself around Ratchet. “I believe you left off when you were riding a four-legged Decepticon shark, racing across the moonlit wasteland. The starlight shone on your red and white armor and glinted off your valiant semi-aquatic steed. As you fled from certain danger towards unknown peril, your thoughts ever turned towards a devastatingly handsome race car.” 

“That’s quite an image.” Ratchet’s jaw dropped. “Is this my memory or your fantasy?” 

“Why not both?” Drift grinned.  
__________________________________________________________________________ 

True to his word, Rippersnapper could move at great speed. They quickly out-paced Bludgeon’s lumbering tank mode, but shark bot showed no signs of slowing down. Just as the strength drained from Ratchet’s arms, Rippersnapper skidded to a stop at the top of a low rise. 

“We made it!” Rippersnapper flashed a golden fanged grin as he helped Ratchet off his back. He wagged his shark tail and shouted, “HEY!! I’M BACK!” 

“RIPPER!!” A huge blur of pink and gold streaked past Ratchet and bowled Rippersnapper over. “I thought you died!” 

“No way, Cutthroat!” Rippersnapper hugged the newcomer with his tiny arms. The sleek avian bot swept him up in his wings and nuzzled him with his pointed snout. “I’m too tough. Well, that and the auto-doc saved me! Where’s the boss?” 

“Right here.” A deep growl rumbled in the darkness. Ratchet froze. That voice was so familiar. “What’s all the commotion about?” Two sinuous necks rose up from the shadows and four crimson optics scanned the area before resting on Ratchet. Large toothy grins spread across the jaws of the twin reptilian heads. 

“Hun-Garr?” Ratchet’ shoulders relaxed, relief washing over him. At least the “boss” is someone he knew. He finally remembered where he heard those names. When Hun-Garr wanted to eat him, he promised to share him with the other Terrorcons: Rippersnapper and Cutthroat. Two additional monstrous bots appeared at Hun-Garr's sides, making for five so far. Noticing that they all preferred their gigantic terrifying alt modes, Ratchet figured that all the Terrorcons must have mass displacement modifications masking tiny fragile bot modes just like Hun-Garr. 

“Auto-doc!!” Hun-Garr's optics lit up and his two heads bobbed with excitement as he loped over to Ratchet. He pressed his foreheads against Ratchet’s chest just like he did that night when he and Deadlock rescued him from the mire. Ratchet offered a weary smile and ran his hands gently down the two necks. Hun-Garr wagged his barbed tail so hard that his entire frame wiggled. 

“You look much better than the last time that I saw you,” Ratchet said. He took one of Hun-Garr's massive heads in his hands and carefully inspected his optics. His instincts as a medical professional ran too deep to ignore, even in these ridiculous circumstances. They shone bright, vibrant crimson. Hun-Garr was finally getting enough fuel to sustain his mass displacement issues. Maintaining his over-sized alt mode consumed massive amounts of energon. The last time they met, the big bot was practically starving, forced to scavenge the battlefield for corpses. Ratchet really hoped that their rations were increased considering the alternative. “Finally getting enough energon, I see.” 

“Yeah!” his other head exclaimed. “It’s great! Deadlock fixed it for us just like he said he would! We all get extra now!” 

All his trepidations fled away at the mention of the kid’s name. Ratchet’s spark spun a little faster. Would it be too much to hope that Deadlock was still stationed here? He clenched his fists and fought the urge to ask. Bludgeon may have followed them and he would not let that lunatic hurt the Terrorcons. Deadlock said that Soundwave rescued them all from the Institute. Whatever experiments they endured during their time as unwilling test subjects, they didn’t deserve to suffer anything like what Ratchet had survived during his last run-in with Bludgeon. 

“I could always eat though.” One half of a sleek two-headed golden monster muttered. His form evoked canine more than lizard and bristled with vibrant purple spines. 

“That goes without saying,” Hun-Garr shrugged. He narrowed his optics and stared at the rest of his monstrous team with his other head. “But no one touches the Auto-doc. I promised we’d always protect him. He saved my life! Even after I tried to eat him!” 

“We know!” A deep purple bipedal saurian bot snuffled. He sneezed a spray of acid, which bubbled toxic green on the ground. “You told us a million times! I always hoped that I’d get to meet him one day!” 

“I know right! He is the best! Just like you said, Boss!” Rippersnapper piped up, still cuddling with Cutthroat. “Guess what! He just saved my life too! Guess what else! His actual name is Ratchet!” 

“Rrrratchet,” both of Hun-Garr's heads rumbled in harmony, rolling the r’s like a revving engine. “I used to just call you the Auto-doc, but I like it! It’s a good name! Ratchet, meet the rest of the Terrorcons.” Hun-Garr pointed a long claw to each bot in turn. “Ripper you apparently met already. Thank you for taking care of whatever trouble he got himself into.” The shark bot flashed him a toothy grin. “The one with the wings is Cutthroat.” 

“Pleased to meet you!” Cutthroat chirped with a slight bow. “Thank you for saving my favorite idiot!” 

“HEY!” Rippersnapper’s plating flared. 

“What?” The flier ruffled his wings. “I said you were my favorite!” 

“Knock it off you two!” Hun-Garr growled. He flicked his tail towards the other two headed bot. “The pretty one is Sinner-Twin.” 

“I’m glad someone notices the time that I spend on my paintwork. It’s not easy to look this good!” Sinner-Twin pirouetted to allow the starlight to shimmer on his golden metal-flake topcoat and polished teal accents. He wagged his dual tails and puffed out his chest. 

“Oh, please!” The purple lizard stifled another acid sneeze. “Now who’s being ridiculous.” 

“And the miserable lug with the acid problem is Blot.” 

“Why do you have to mention that in your introductions?” Blot grumbled, wiping his runny snout with the back of his claws. “It’s bad enough none of the other Decepticons like me because I have leakage issues.” 

“Oh, please! No one likes you-” Sinner-Twin's first head scoffed. “-Because you have a terrible personality.” His second head finished the sentence. 

Much to Blot’s chagrin, the other four Terrorcons burst into laughter. Ratchet smiled and warmth spread through is battered circuits. Deadlock kept his promise. Whatever strings he had to pull or supply clerks he had to threaten, the Terrorcons now had plenty to eat. He knew the kid had it in him all along. 

“TERRORCONS!!” The shout rose in rage and volume as their name echoed through the night. A series of explosions rumbled across the nearby ridge, stunning everyone into silence and knocking Ratchet off his weary feet. “WHERE ARE YOU?” 

“What is that?!” Hun-Garr's two heads whipped around. 

“It- It’s Bludgeon, Boss. I knew that I had something important to tell you. With all the excitement, I forgot all about him.” Rippersnapper curled around himself, hiding his face with his shark tail. “I’m in so much trouble.” 

“Bludgeon?! Ah-Choo!” In his panic, Blot started sneezing bursts of acid. “He’s crazy. Ah-Choo! What’s he want -Ah-Choo!- with us? Maybe we broke some rules that we didn’t know about?” 

“Watch it!” Sinner-Twin snarled at Blot with one head while the other inspected his tails which were within sneeze range. “You’ll melt my paint. This is a custom color!” 

“What if he’s going to take us back- back there?” Cutthroat whimpered, unable to actually say the words ‘The Institute.’ 

A barrage of ordinance exploded even closer, showering the squabbling monster bots with debris. Ratchet sighed and struggled to his feet. He brushed the dust from his armor and rubbed his aching jaw. Although he didn’t get to see Deadlock again, he look comfort in knowing that the kid went out of his way to help this bunch of hapless monsters. Ratchet briefly considered asking the Terrorcons to give Deadlock a message from him, but thought better of it. That was the coward’s way. If he didn’t have the courage to tell the kid how he felt himself, he couldn’t ask someone else to do it for him. 

“Take it easy, everyone.” Ratchet offered a gentle smile when all crimson optics turned on him. “Bludgeon is not going to hurt you and he’s definitely not taking you anywhere. He’s looking for me. When I go with him, he’ll leave you alone. I promise.” 

“Why would you go with that gearstick?” Hun-Garr snarled, cocking both of his heads sideways. 

“That’s what I need to tell you, Boss!” Rippersnapper peaked up over his tail. “After we got separated, I got shot. See?” He uncurled himself to show off his new weld seams. “I was so scared. I thought I was gonna die all alone, but Ratchet promised to help me. He stayed with me when Bludgeon showed up. Ratchet kept fixing me even while Bludgeon threatened him. Then Bludgeon hurt him!” Rippersnapper leapt up and mimed a few awkward punches. 

“Go on,” Hun-Garr growled, plating bristling. The chilling sound sent a shiver down Ratchet's spinal struts. 

“Bludgeon kept being all creepy. I know attacking other Decepticons is against the rules, but I didn’t know what else to do. I tail-smashed him, grabbed Ratchet, and ran. We all promised to protect the auto-doc, and Terrorcons keep their promises.” 

“Bludgeon wants YOU?” Cutthroat asked Ratchet, a hint of relief in his voice. “You know the kind of stuff he likes to do, right?” 

“Unfortunately.” Ratchet grimaced. “I survived his “hospitality” once before.” He made the scare quotes motion with his fingers. A fierce light grew in optics as he recalled how Rippersnapper thought his painful injuries weren’t ‘that bad.’ Deadlock made sure the Terrorcons had enough fuel, Ratchet wouldn’t let that gesture go to waste. No one would deliberately harm these bots on his watch. “You lot have been through so much already. I will not let Bludgeon threaten you.” 

“Wait a minute... Bludgeon’s tortured you before?” Sinner-Twin's first head turned to face him. “And you would willingly go through that again?” His second head swung around. 

“To protect us?” Blot sneezed. 

“Of course.” Ratchet answered. 

“But,” Blot sniffled. “No non-Terrorcon has ever protected us before.” 

“Yeah.” Rippersnapper nodded. “I mean, Soundwave saved us from- from- that place, but we had to promise to join the Decepticons and follow all the rules. There were conditions. You just offered to protect us for no reason.” 

The Terrorcons all fell silent as Bludgeon roared again, closer this time. Hun-Garr stepped forward, raising both of his heads high. “Do you know what this means?” 

Multiple sets of crimson optics all brightened at once and focused on him. Ratchet took a shaky step back. 

“RATCHET IS A TERRORCON!!” They all exclaimed at once. 

“WHAT?!” Ratchet shouted a half second before he was tackled by five very large, very excited monsters. He couldn’t help but laugh as the lolling tongues and wagging tails tickled his frame.


	4. Burden Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bludgeon finally catches up to Rippersnapper and Ratchet. Although Ratchet is prepared to surrender to spare the Terrorcons from Bludeon's wrath, his new monster squad has other ideas. Bludgeon is looking for an Autobot, but Ratchet is a Terrorcon and Terrorcons protect their own.

“So, let me get this straight.” Drift propped his elbows on Ratchet’s chest, templed his fingers and vented slowly in and out. He managed to keep a straight face. Bless his spark. “YOU are a Terrorcon? The secret sixth Terrorcon? You mean to tell me that all this time -even right now as we are speaking- I’ve been cuddling up to a big bad Terrorcon?” 

“Yes. That IS what the rest of them decided that night.” Ratchet sighed. He knew this story was completely ridiculous, which was why he never told anyone else. In fact, just talking these past few nights meant Drift already knew more about him than almost anyone ever did. “Everyone thinks there are only five Terrorcons, but I am the little-known sixth member of the monster squad.” 

“I can totally see it.” Drift sagely nodded. 

“Wait. What?!” Not the response Ratchet was expecting. 

“Yeah.” Drift’s optics shone with impish delight. “Everyone knows all the Terrorcons are stubborn, ill-tempered grumps with terrible people skills. You fit right in.” 

Ratchet narrowed his optics. Drift bit his lip, then burst into laughter. 

“Oh, come on! That’s hardly-” Ratchet snorted. Drift shooshed him by placing his finger lightly across Ratchet’s lips. 

“I’m not finished,” Drift grinned, mischief softening. “They are also fiercely protective, loyal to a fault, and underneath those monstrous exteriors have secretly soft and huggable centers.” He snuggled close and squeezed Ratchet tight for emphasis. 

Heat rushed to Ratchet’s face. “When you put it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad. Makes me glad that I finally decided to share this memory with someone.” 

“What do mean ‘finally’?” Drift stared at him, optics slowly narrowing. “Have you never told anyone about this before?” 

Ratchet shrugged. “It’s bad enough that I have to deal with it. I don’t need to burden anyone else with all this rust wash.” He squirmed as Drift’s glare intensified. Ratchet knew he was checking his aura. Normally at this point, Ratchet would tell him to mind his business and leave his aura out of the conversation. Although auras don’t exist, somehow whenever Drift “read” his, he came away with a fairly accurate assessment of whatever Ratchet is feeling. He’s still not entirely sure how he does it. 

“Burden me.” 

“What?” 

“Burden me with all of it. I want to hear about everything that you ever did, about was done to you, about the things you can’t remember or wished you could forget. Your hurt, your pain, joys, sorrows. Tell me everything.” 

Ratchet just blinked. He didn’t know what to say. Talking about himself didn’t come easy. Drift and Rodimus could bare their sparks to each other for hours, casually chatting about past mistakes or current celebrations. Ratchet never did anything like that before. Rebuilding Optimus Prime from a battered spark casing and a handful of shrapnel was easy compared to talking about himself. The only reason he started this story was to take Drift’s mind from whatever terrible memory stalked his nightmares tonight. 

“I’m serious, Ratty.” Drift’s expression softened. The dim light gleamed on his pearlescent top coat. Ratchet didn’t put any stock in all the scrap about auras and energies but if he indulged his imagination, he thought Drift’s aura would look something like this. A soft glow of pure white, just hinting at the resilient strength blazing within, sharp and gentle all at the same time. Ratchet jumped when Drift poked him. He didn’t realize that he was staring. 

“Trying to read my aura?” Drift purred in a sing song tone. 

“Of course not!” Ratchet flushed in denial. How did he guess? Damn him anyways. 

“It takes time and practice to even be able to see an aura, let alone read one properly, so I’ll just tell you how serious I am.” Drift smiled, finials perking up. “Because it’s very!” 

“Auras aside, I’m just not used to talking about myself so much is all.” Ratchet mumbled. 

“You’re doing a fantastic job so far.” 

“Only because I’m trying to help you.” 

“That’s a good way to start. I’m serious about wanting to hear your stories. It helps. To talk about things. Believe me.” 

“I don’t know... I’m used to dealing with everything on my own. Why should I drag you into my issues?” 

“Because we’re in this together and I will drag you into mine without a moment’s hesitation. Trust me on this. You’re the strongest bot that I know, which means that you’re strong enough to be vulnerable. I’m here for you just like I know that you’re here for me.” 

“I’m not sure that I know how.” Ratchet bit his lip. He normally found opening up extraordinarily difficult, but the words came a little easier than he expected tonight. Although he started out just wanted to help Drift get to sleep, the idea of Drift knowing things about him that no one else did warmed his circuits. 

“Finish telling me what happened that night and see how you feel after.” Drift trailed his fingers lightly along Ratchet’s helm. When his engine revved with a satisfied purr, Ratchet didn’t even try to hide it.  
__________________________________________________________________________________ 

“Okay! Okay!” Ratchet struggled to extricate himself from the mass of jubilant Terrorcons. He never even had a proper chance to protest. 

“I knew there was something special about you, doc!” Hun-Garr nuzzled him with both heads. “Not eating you that night was the best decision I ever made!” 

“Look. I appreciate all-” 

“Yeah!” Rippersnapper capered around him. “It makes perfect sense.” 

“Let’s not-” 

“You’re a Terrorcon! That’s great news!” Blot sniffled. “We’re finally all together!” 

“Once a Terrorcon, always a Terrorcon.” Cutthroat nodded in agreement. “Who would have thought that Boss-Bot’s hero would turn out to be a Terrorcon too? I guess it’s a good thing Ripper got shot after all.” The shark bot glared at him and wacked him with his tail. 

“Now, wait one second!” Ratchet began once he freed himself. “I turn into an ambulance. My alt mode doesn’t even fit your theme.” 

“Nobody’s perfect,” Sinnertwin shrugged, bobbing his dual heads, “Except me of course.” 

Ratchet sighed. Apparently, his opinion on the matter didn’t count. The five to one majority vote decided it: He was indeed a Terrorcon. Shaking his head, he regarded the excited monsters with a weary smile. He supposed there were worse groups to belong to. At least he didn’t fall in with the Constructicons. 

The ominous ring of a transformation cog snapped them all back to the Bludgeon-sized problem at hand. Ratchet had heard that some bots could determine someone’s emotional state from their transformation sound alone. He always thought of those stories as fragging scrap until now. Bludgeon’s transformation sequence resounded with fury. 

“I know that you’re over there!” he yelled. Heavy footfalls thudded up the hill towards them. “Give. Me. My autobot!” 

“It’s okay.” Ratchet summoned his last reserves of courage. The corner of the patch on his neck had worked itself loose and warm energon streamed out around the edges. His plating shivered as it ran in tiny rivulets down his armor. He supposed there was no point to fixing it now. Once Bludgeon got his hands on him, one small cut, even one in his main fuel line, would be the least of his worries. “I’ll deal with him.” 

“NO!” Hun-Garr growled, crouching low to the ground. “No, you won’t.” 

“Yeah.” Cutthtroat chimed in. “You saved the boss! Then got hurt saving Ripper! No way we’re letting him take you. We Terrorcons look out for our own.” 

“Now, listen-” Before Ratchet could finish, Hun-Garr pounced on him and gathered him close to his massive chest, careful not to damage him with his claws. “Whoa! What are you-” 

“Shh!” Hun-Garr winked as he flopped over onto the ground, tucking Ratchet completely underneath his huge frame. He wrapped his massive tail around his side and made sure his claws obscured all parts of Ratchet’s distinct red and white paint work. “This is the best I can come up with on short notice!” 

“Get off-” Ratchet squirmed, struggling to get out from under Hun-Garr. 

“Quit wiggling around,” He whispered. A hint of laughter playing at the ends of his words. “That really tickles.” The other Terrorcons ranged around him, gaining a savage confidence in their mission to protect the newest member of their squad. 

“There you are.” Bludgeon snarled as he stomped over the crest on the hill into the Terrorcon’s den. His crimson optics blazed fiery red behind his fanged skull faceplate. “Where is he?” 

“Who?” Sinnertwin cocked his dual heads, four crimson optics sparkling in innocence. 

“Don’t play stupid with me. The autobot. Where is he?” 

“Autobot? Au-to-bot?” Cutthroat repeated slowly, as if deeply contemplating each syllable of the word. “There’s no autobot here. Only TERRORCONS!” He flared his wings. 

“YOU!” Bludgeon drew his sword and brandished the point at Rippersnapper. “You struck me! Then you carried him away. I want him back. NOW.” His voice reverberated with deadly calm. Despite the suffocating warmth of being sat on by a gigantic monster, a shiver ran through Ratchet’s struts. He focused on the heat radiating from Hun-Garr's frame instead on of the sensation of being roughly tossed into a freezing cell, leaking from dozens of slice-wounds. 

“He’s gone- I ate him!” Hun-Garr blurted out. 

“You. Ate. Him?” Bludgeon narrowed his optics and focused his wrath towards Hun-Garr. His engine rumbled a promise of danger. Ratchet struggled to keep his own vent fans from overheating. He shoved all memories of Bludgeon’s blades biting into his armor from his mind. The prospect of having to face all that again hit him a little harder than he'd like to admit. He promised to protect the Terrorcons, and if he had to, he would go with Bludgeon in an instant. But right now, despite how it stung his circuits, he huddled under Hun-Garr and clung to the selfish hope that somehow he’d get out of this stupid situation in one piece. 

“You heard the boss. Ah-Choo!” Blot sneezed a spray of acid in Bludgeon’s general direction. A few flecks of the green goo fizzled on Bludgeon’s armor. Blot’s reptilian face stretched into a leering grin at the hissing sound of dissolving metal. He stalked around Bludgeon’s left. “Can’t un-eat someone once you’ve eaten them.” 

“But you can always eat someone else.” Rippersnapper growled, crouching down like a coiled spring ready to pounce. His shark tail wagged slowly back and forth. 

“I don’t know what game you are playing at.” Bludgeon remained stationery, tracking Blot with his optics. 

“Terrorcons don’t play games.” Sinnertwin snarled, stalking around to Bludgeon’s right side. “Not with self-righteous maniacs who think they’re better than everyone.” 

Bludgeon shifted his weight. His slight step backwards emboldened the Terrorcons. Cutthroat snapped his jaws. “You know what? I’m kinda hungry.” 

“I could always eat.” Sinnertwin’s second head purred and his dual tails thrashed as he and Blot slowly circled Bludgeon. 

“Listen to me, you abominations-” The sword wavered in his hand. 

“A-bom-in-ations!” Rippersnapper chomped the insult in sections. “What an interesting word choice!” 

“Perhaps,” Hun-Garr's first head growled. “We shall show you how abominable we can really be!” His second head finished, flashing his razor-sharp fangs. “We don’t need Abominus to deal with the likes of you, but we’d really enjoy it.” The rest of the Terrorcons chuckled in unison, a low predatory rumble and one of the most terrifying sounds Ratchet ever heard. 

Crimson optics flaring, Bludgeon sheathed his sword. “I don’t have time for this.” He muttered. “Keep your secrets. I’ll find my autobot without your interference.” He slowly retreated, not daring to turn his back on the multiple sets of wolfish jaws, salivating at the prospect of fresh energon. Once he put a little distance between them, he transformed and lumbered back into the battlefield in his tank mode as quickly as his dignity allowed. 

The Terrorcons waited until the angry squeaking of Bludgeon’s treads faded out of audial range before bursting into raucous laughter. Hun-Garr rolled off of Ratchet, Rippersnapper lifted him to his feet, and Cutthroat blasted the dust from his armor with a flap of his wings. 

“Primus!” Sinnertwin’s dual heads snickered. “Did you hear that guy? ‘My autobot’.” He mimicked Bludgeon in a mocking tone. “Where does he get off?” 

“Pfft! I know right!” Rippersnapper nodded. “Ratchet’s no one’s ‘autobot’. He’s a Terrorcon!” 

“You got that right!” Blot sniffled. “We sure showed that idiot!” 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Ratchet grumbled, placing an additional patch over his leaking wound, ignoring the constantly pinging low fuel warnings on his HUD. He really needed to get that fixed before it gets any worse. “I said I’d watch out for you, and I meant it. I-” 

“Come on, doc!” Hun-Garr's two sinuous necks curled around Ratchet. “Like we told you before: Terrorcons protect each other. Although, we should probably get you out of here. Just in case he comes back.” 

The scene of leaving Deadlock behind in the torrential thunderstorm flashed through his mind. Ratchet drew himself up. He owed it to the kid not to make the same mistake again. “Why don’t you all come with me?” 

A myriad of crimson optics blinked at him all at once. 

“Us? Become autobots?” Hun-Garr cocked his heads to one side. 

“If you want.” Ratchet shrugged. “But we’re Terrorcons, right? We can just stick together.” 

“We should stick together,” Hun-Garr's first head began. “But we made a promise to Soundwave. We promised to follow the rules, fight for his cause, and we would never have to go back to the Institute. Terrorcons keep their promises.” His second head finished with a nod. Although the rest of the Terrorcons flinched at the mention of the Institute, they all hummed in agreement. 

“I have promises to keep, too.” Ratchet sighed, thinking of how he told Optimus that he’d serve as his CMO as long as he needed him. With no end to the war in sight, he had no idea how long that might be. At least he had the courage to ask this time. He actually would have liked to bring these hapless monsters with him. They kind of grow on you, once they’ve taken you off of the menu of course. Thunderclash would love them and wrangling the Terrorcons would have kept his mind off the fact that he’s fallen head over wheels for that little red speedster from Nyon that Optimus recently recruited. Especially since he’s too shy to actually talk to him. 

“Come on, doc!” Cutthroat stretched his wings. “I’ll take you back to the autobots.”


	5. Group Hug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a harrowing evening of rescuing wounded Decepticons and narrowly avoiding death and dismemberment, Ratchet just wants to go home. The Terrorcons offer to escort their newest member back to the Autobots so they can all keep their respective promises. Before he returns to base, Ratchet goes in search of Thunderclash, just in case his friend got lost looking for him.
> 
> Ratchet finishes telling Drift about his encounter with the Terrorcons. Although he started telling this story to help Drift get to sleep, he discovers that Drift had taken measures to protect Ratchet from nightmares as well.

“Is that all?” Drift yawned. He gracefully stretched his arms up over his head before snuggling back into his blankets. 

“Basically.” Ratchet shrugged. “There’s just a little bit more. Cutthroat had to help me find Thunderclash, who had gotten himself lost looking for me, but it’s not important.” 

Drift reached one arm out of his cocoon and flicked Ratchet’s nose with his index finger. 

“Ow! Hey! What was that for?” Ratchet grumbled, rubbing his nose. 

“Everything is important.” Drift attempted a smug smile but he was so sleepy at this point he looked adorably drunk. “I said I wanted to hear the whole story. Don’t stop now.” He yawned again and curled around Ratchet. 

“There’s not much-” 

Drift’s engine growled. 

“Okay! Okay!” Ratchet gave in. Drift closed his optics and cuddled close. Ratchet smiled. He trailed his fingers in gentle circles on Drift’s back, coaxing a contented purr from the speedster’s engine. “You know, if you were any more relaxed, you’d probably be dead.” 

“I’m willing to take that risk.” Drift vented a long sleepy sigh without bothering to open his optics. He melted into his pile of blankets. “Go on, keep talking to me. I’m listening.”  
___________________________________________________________________________ 

“It was good to see you again, doc!” Hun-Garr nuzzled him with is dual heads. 

“Likewise.” Ratchet smiled. And surprising himself, he genuinely meant it. 

“Before you go,” Sinnertwin shuffled forward, “I have something to ask.” He shifted his weight and swayed back and forth on his paws. 

“Go head.” Ratchet gently prodded him. 

“Well...” A slight pink glow lit up both of his faces, shining off his purple spines. “The boss told us that when you pulled him from the mud, you held his bot mode in your arms. Not to confine or contain him, just, you know... Something nice. I’ve always been curious what that felt like. Could you hold me like that? Just for a second?” 

“You want a hug?” Ratchet raised a brow ridge. Why the hell not? Truth be told, Ratchet felt like he could use a hug himself right now. 

“Is that what it’s called?” Sinnertwin bobbed his heads and beamed at him, hope sparkling in his optics. 

“Sure is.” Ratchet smiled and opened his arms. “Come here.” 

Sinnertwin spun his transformation cog and shifted into bot mode. His monstrous form shrunk and folded upon itself until a tiny bot, half the size of the cassettes that he knew stood at Ratchet’s feet. 

“I- I haven’t used this form in so long.” Sinnertwin dug his feet into the dirt and cast his optics on the ground. “But since you’re a Terrorcon... I- I trust you.” 

“Terrorcons protect each other, right.” Ratchet knelt down and gathered the miniscule bot into his arms. It felt strange to hold such a small, fragile form of the fearsome two-headed monster that could easily tear him to pieces. 

“Hugs are really nice.” Sinnertwin sighed. The little bot melted into his embrace, tiny engine slipping into a high-pitched purr. 

The rest of the Terrorcons just stared, jaws agape. 

“What!?” Rippersnapper whined. “That’s not fair!” 

“Yeah!” Cutthroat joined in. “I want a hug too!” 

“Too bad, losers!” Sinnertwin snuggled into Ratchet’s chest. “I asked first.” 

“You know,” Ratchet smiled, “There is advanced technique we could use.” 

All the Terrorcons turned their eager optics towards him, tails wagging. 

“It’s called a ‘group hug’.” He continued. “Multiple people join in the hug all at one time.” 

“That’s craziness!” Blot scoffed. 

“Are you kidding?” Hun-Garr laughed in stereo, broad grins on both heads. “It’s perfect! We do everything together! Our first official move with our newest member shall be THE GROUP HUG!” With that announcement he transformed into his tiny bot mode as well. The last three Terrocons quickly followed suit. 

Ratchet easily gathered them all into his arms. As he gently held them, all the Terrorcons started to purr like a brace of contented turbofoxes. It broke Ratchet’s spark. True, the Terrorcons were ferocious monsters, but there was also an innocence deep inside them that he wished he could protect. Their savagery sprung from a stalwart loyalty to their promises and a hard-wired need to protect each other rather than malice or sadism. 

They’ve been hurt, abused, and didn’t even know the proper word for a hug. Once he left, they’d be on opposite sides of an endless war again. While they shared the bond of a promise, words weren’t enough. Ratchet knew that there’s a good chance that they might eat some of his friends or that his friends might shoot them. To top it all off, Deadlock was still out there somewhere, all alone. It was too much. His engine stumbled and Ratchet hugged them all a little tighter. 

“You okay, doc-bot?” Hun-Garr asked. The genuine concern in his voice brought tears to Ratchet’s optics. 

“Yeah.” He lied. “Just tired.” 

“Hmm. We should get you home. It’s been a long night.” Hun-Garr pulled away first, easily shifting back into his gigantic saurian alt mode. The rest of the Terrorcons transformed one after the other, each growing in size and ferocity as their mass-displaced armor rearranged into their monstrous alt modes. 

“Thank you.” Sinnertwin whispered without vanity or bluster. 

“You are most welcome.” Ratchet ruffled the scales on his two heads. “I have one last question for you too: Who is Abominus?” 

The Terrorcons all exchanged a knowing glance and burst into laughter. Ratchet felt like he stumbled across some inside joke. 

“We promise to show you next time!” Hun-Garr winked, a comical effect with four eyes. 

“And since we promised-” Rippersnapper began. 

“And Terrorcons ALWAYS keep their promises-” Cutthroat continued. 

“It means we’ll have to see you again!” Blot finished with a sneeze. Ratchet noticed with a high degree of relief that he managed to hold his acid sneezes until the group hug finished. 

“Sounds good to me.” Ratchet smiled, ignoring all the logical reasons why it was likely impossible. “Take care of yourselves until then.” The temptation to have them give a message to Deadlock gnawed at him once again, but he pushed it aside. 

“Okay, Auto-doc!” Cutthroat flared his wings then leaned down. “Hop on! I’ll take you home! Just tell me the way.” 

“Thank you.” Ratchet carefully climbed onto the avian bot’s back. He waved to the rest of the Terrorcons as they rose into the night sky. Another thrust of Cutthroat’s wings and all Ratchet could see of the Terrorcons was the shining of their crimson optics, sparkling like dark stars fallen to the ground. 

Ratchet directed Cutthroat back towards the area where he rescued Rippersnapper just in case Thunderclash did come looking for him. 

“Who is THAT?” Cutthroat pointed out a large multicolor transport vehicle idling in the shadow of a pile of debris. Although his dented armor smoked from several more missile strikes, he still looked annoyingly good. 

“An insufferable idiot.” Ratchet grumbled. 

“Are you sure?” Cutthroat asked, squinting. “Because he looks like a stone cold turbofox to me.” 

“Unfortunately those traits aren’t mutually exclusive,” Ratchet sighed. The fact that Thunderclash wandered out to search for him simultaneously warmed his spark and made him furious. “Drop me off with him, please.” 

As Cutthroat descended, they could hear Thunderclash mumbling to himself. "Was it this way?” Thunderclash started to turn to the right, slammed on his brakes and rolled backwards. “No. That doesn’t look right,” he muttered. Then he steered towards the left and halted again. “Maybe over here? Ugh! Frag it all! Everything looks the same!” 

“Just what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ratchet shouted as they landed lightly beside Thunderclash. 

“RATCHET! I got SO lost!” Thunderclash exclaimed. He instantly transformed, damaged armor panels screeching as they shifted into place. The shrill sound sent a shiver down Ratchet’s spinal struts. Thunderclash leapt towards Ratchet before his transformation was fully complete and fell flat on his face. Completely unphased, the big bot pushed himself up and scooped up the tired medic in a suffocating hug. He buried his face into Ratchet’s smaller shoulder. “Thank Primus you found me!” 

“Primus had nothing to do with it,” Ratchet grumbled. He kept up his exasperated façade to prevent himself from dissolving into tears. After running into Bludgeon earlier, Ratchet thought for sure that both he and Thunderclash would be dead by morning. After all they’d survived together, they’d die alone: Ratchet by Bludgeon’s hand and Thunderclash killed by friendly fire. Finding his friend alive, albeit damaged, was a better outcome than he had dared to hope for. “I could have sworn that I specifically told you to stay at the base. You know, I think Optimus only made you a commander because you’re terrible at following orders.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thunderclash laughed, choking back a sob. He squeezed Ratchet like he might disappear at any moment. 

When the colorful transport started to tremble, Ratchet wiggled his arms free and did his best to embrace the much larger bot. Frag it all. He always found it difficult to keep his emotions in check when Thunderclash wore his spark on his sleeve. 

“Can this be a group hug too?” Cutthroat chirped over Ratchet’s shoulder. 

Without saying a word, Thunderclash wrapped Cutthroat into their hug, cuddling the two smaller bots against his massive frame. Ratchet sighed. He needed to have another conversation with Thunderclash about showering complete strangers with affection. Cutthroat ruffled his wings and purred. 

“Alright! Alright!” Ratchet squirmed. “I didn’t survive tonight’s adventure to accidentally get blown up by a missile barrage. Let’s get out of here.” 

“Aww. Okay...” Thunderclash whined, releasing Ratchet and Cutthroat. “Who’s your friend?” 

Ratchet folded his arms. “That’s something that you should ask BEFORE you hug someone.” 

“I’m Cutthroat!” The avian bot puffed out his chest, looking extremely pleased with himself. 

“Pleased to meet you, Cutthroat! I’m Thunderclash!” The big bot smiled and Cutthroat blushed. Somehow the black soot streaking his face only added to his overall handsomeness. Ratchet shook his head. Thunderclash was the only bot he knew that could make almost getting blown up look so good. 

“Thanks for the hug! Ripper’s gonna be so jealous!” Cutthroat snickered. “I gotta go tell him all about it! Take care, Doc Ratchet! Remember: We promised to see each other again and Terrorcons always keep their promises!” 

“I promise!” Ratchet waved as Cutthroat disappeared into the night sky with one thrust of his wings. He turned to see Thunderclash staring at him. The big bot raised a brow ridge and a smirk spread across his face that said he guessed at more than Ratchet was willing to tell him. “What? It’s a long story.” 

“I’d love to hear it. But I probably never will.” Thunderclash sighed and laid a hand on Ratchet’s shoulder. “You look terrible, by the way. Like something the turbofox dragged in, partially ate, and then threw up.” 

“You’re one to talk!” Ratchet laughed, in spite of himself. He hadn’t realized how much the thought of life without Thunderclash bothered him until he found the big idiot alive. “You’d look even worse than me if your outlier ability wasn’t invincible hotness.” 

“Pfft! That is so NOT true!” Thunderclash scoffed. “Let’s get out of here.” He spun his transformation and Ratchet winced at the grating cacophony of Thunderclash’s warped panels shifting into place. One of his fenders didn’t quite change completely. “A little help?” 

“You are ridiculous.” Ratchet groaned. He gave Thunderclash a swift kick in the bumper and the last piece snapped into place. 

“Thanks! Hop in!” Thunderclash opened the door to his cab. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the energon running down your armor from a hastily applied patch on your neck. I’ll do the driving, just tell me where to go.” 

“I’ll tell you EXACTLY where to go.” Ratchet grumbled as he climbed into Thunderclash’s cab. He could drive himself but it was easier to acquiesce to Thunderclash’s concern than to have him nag at him the entire way back. Plus, it was definitely more comfortable. 

“Ha! I walked into that one!” The big bot laughed as he shifted into gear. 

As safe as anyone could be in an active war zone, Ratchet stretched out and put his feet up on Thunderclash’s dash board. He hadn’t realized how completely exhausted he was until he sat down. Although he didn’t see Deadlock tonight, knowing that the kid went out his way to help feed the Terrorcons warmed his spark. Especially now that he apparently was a Terrorcon himself. Maybe one day he’ll even tell someone about it.  
____________________________________________________________________________ 

Ratchet finished his story and turned to check on Drift. The speedster was so deep in recharge, that an unsuspecting observer might think he was dead. Just to be sure, Ratchet placed two fingertips lightly over his spark. The steady hum reverberated through his frame. Sensing his touch without waking, Drift’s engine gently revved. 

Settling into their berth, careful not to jostle Drift, Ratchet smiled. He felt better, lighter somehow. Maybe the kid was onto something. Sharing his past with Drift created a level of intimacy that Ratchet never had with anyone before. 

Stretching his arms above his head before curling up around Drift, Ratchet’s hand brushed against something smooth and cool. He suddenly remembered Drift setting something up there at the beginning of his story when he promised to protect him in any way he could. Overcome by curiosity, Ratchet reached an arm up to the headboard. He fumbled around until he grasped the object in question. 

Bringing the item close to his optics for inspection in their darkened hab suite, Ratchet furrowed his brow. A large polished piece of rose quartz? He rolled his optics. How did he know that? Ugh! Drift’s spiritual rust wash is rubbing off on him. He tilted the pink gemstone, watching the dim light shimmer like mystic fire in the polished facets, while trying to recall what Drift told him about this stone. Rose quartz symbolized unconditional love, promoted healing, and was good for- 

Tears sprang into Ratchet’s optics, blurring the stone’s sparkles. 

Rose quartz was used for protection against nightmares. 

Turning the crystal over in his hands, his fingers grazed over the distinct emblem of the Circle of Light engraved on the bottom. Ratchet’s hand shot to his mouth and his frame jolted as he suppressed a sob. 

This particular stone was one of Drift’s prized possessions, given to him by Dai Atlas when he left the Crystal City, and one of the few items that he actually took with him during his exile. He ALWAYS kept it next to his side of their berth. It didn’t matter what Ratchet thought of his crystal collection, Drift truly believed this chunk of mineral helped keep his nightmares at bay. And yet... As soon as Drift thought Ratchet talking about his past might dredge up old nightmares, he gave Ratchet his beloved crystal. Without hesitation. Without fanfare. Drift simply sacrificed his own security to protect Ratchet. 

A smile spread across Ratchet's face as he wiped the tears from his optics. He stretched out and carefully replaced the stone exactly where Drift had positioned it, although he probably got the proper angle wrong. 

He gingerly snuggled down into the mass of blankets that covered their berth, careful not to disturb the peacefully slumbering speedster. Ratchet flipped a corner of blanket over Drift’s exposed shoulder, drawing a contented purr from his engine. When his own engine rumbled in kind, he didn’t even try to hide it. Drift’s stupid crystal did work. Not because it had power in and of itself, but because he had so generously given it with deep altruistic love. Right now such overwhelming happiness filled Ratchet’s spark, he couldn’t possibly imagine having a nightmare. 

When Ratchet found Drift during his exile, they made a promise to each other. A bond forged in a long unspoken love. Ratchet would always be there for Drift, but part of his promise meant allowing Drift to be there for him as well. He glanced up at the shimmering pink crystal above his side of their berth and smiled. Tonight he had told Drift about his secret designation as a Terrorcon, which was a start. After all, he made a promise and Terrorcons always keep their promises.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> I appreciate your kudos and love reading your comments!!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at: [lush-specimen.tumblr.com](https://lush-specimen.tumblr.com/)


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